


your smile breaks the violence

by ArrowsandGuns



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Can just be read as friendship until the last four lines, Canon Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, in which the author doesn't ignore hawkeye's hearing aids, or T'Challa's advanced tech and advanced country
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 02:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11545416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArrowsandGuns/pseuds/ArrowsandGuns
Summary: In which, Sam gets hurt in battle and T'Challa stays with him.





	your smile breaks the violence

In the skies, Falcon scours the broken streets for a sign of Black Panther. The team lost radio contact with the Wakandan twenty seconds ago; nineteen seconds too long and an immediate emergency for him to respond to. While the rest of the team could handle rogue Hydra agents that never got the memo of their organization falling, Falcon needed to find his teammate before something unforgivable happened. Hydra was desperate for tech that give them a leg up on the Avengers, and there was nothing more advanced in the world than Wakanadan technology.

He finds his teammate when he curves around a several-story parking garage, in the form of vibranium claws digging into the back of his alloy wings. He shouts in surprise at the sensation of added weight and it serves to disorient him until he adjusts for the unevenness.

The claws retract and Black Panther moves to be directly on his back, hands now digging into his shoulders but thankfully not cutting into his Avengers uniform. "Not a fan of heights?" Falcon asks as if they aren't in the middle of a battlefield, as if the Hulk wasn't just launched down the cross street and into a defenseless semi-truck.

"Just get me down," Black Panther grits out, his hands showing no sign of loosening while he was stories above the ground.

"Did a loose shot take down your comm?"

"Get me down," Black Panther repeats, "Or I will have you arrested."

Falcon can't argue with that.

Well, he _can_ , but he rather enjoys the Wakandan King's company at debriefings due to his immaculate skill of speeding things up with a few cutting words.

Falcon adjusts his flight to be steeper; Black Panther's grip doesn't tighten, but he swears he can hear the King's teeth grind.

He lands on the ground with finesse only experience can offer. Black Panther doesn't comment on it, though he lets out a soft sound of relief when he lands on the torn street once more. Falcon turns around to receive a modest 'thank you', but the Wakandan is already running down the street and into the calamity once more.

"You're welcome," he mutters bitterly, but a smile plays on his lips anyways.

-

Tinnitus is as much a liar as nostalgia, except instead of pretending things used to be better than they were, tinnitus pretends that nothing is happening outside of a repetitive ring. Falcon reminisces in the sound, faint images of his para-rescue days flooding behind his eyelids before a sixth sense suggests that someone is around him. He manages to open his eyes, seeing half of the world in a red tone and half through cracks.

Did his eye crack?

No, no. His goggles. They must be totally ruined; there's no AI output of what he's seeing, not that he needs a computer to let him know that Black Panther is leaning over him with a worried expression.

Falcon tries to sit up, but his bones scream in protest. He closes his eyes with the effort it takes not to scream. His efforts must fail, because when he opens them up again, Black Panther is still mid-cringe. He tries to ease his teammate's apparent nerves, but dust and copper rob his tongue and he coughs until his lips are red.

His mouth is dry, despite the blood in it. He tries to lick his lips, but he can't seem to gather enough energy to manage it. Black Panther mouths something at him. No, he must be speaking. The ringing is still an orchestra of one note in his head. He wants to use sign language with the Wakandan instead, but the attempt to move his arms brings him a sharp pain in between two of his ribs and he just _knows_ he gurgles up more blood at the sensation.

Well, he can't move, and he can't communicate. Black Panther is hurriedly moving his lips but there's nothing getting past the wall of sound in his head. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing. His lungs feel wet. He's had one or two of these injuries happen to him before, but never all at once. 

Trying to remember the past makes him tired. Trying to move or talk makes him tired. Maybe he can sleep it off.

He's almost unconscious when the sensation of water makes him alert. His head jerks forward imperceptibly at the sudden change, but when his eyes open he sees T'Challa with wet eyes. He mouths something again - Sam realizes it is his name. The realization must show on his face, but T'Challa breaks out into a warm smile. "Sam," he repeats, probably in more a relieved tone. He says more, but Sam can only make out the word 'ambulance' and 'okay'. Sam tries to mouth back a response but the blood on his lips makes them sticky and heavy. T'Challa cups his face with a gloved hand, saying something that would probably be very encouraging. 

Sam's lips curl in an attempt at a goofy smile to ease T'Challa. And though he fights it as hard as he can, his eyes slide shut again, so he embraces the dark.

-

A bright light threatens to tattoo red into his eyelids. Sam groans as he squints his eyes open. His head is in splitting pain, pulsating with an unpleasant dullness. He slowly becomes more aware of his body with each pulse, eventually realizing that his right shoulder feels heavy with bandages and his left arm is tucked in a cast. Sam can at least wiggle his toes.

He finally gets his eyes all the way open, immediately aware of all the yellow around him. Roses. They're his favorite. He stares at the bouquet at his bedside to the right in his loopy, drugged state. He flinches at the sound of a room-shaking snore. A sleeping king rests at his feet, face buried in his folded arms. He looks rather peaceful, and Sam almost lulls himself back to sleep just thinking about it. 

He fixates on the expensive button-up the King is wearing. Then the large vibranium ring, then the advanced tech of his beaded bracelet. His oogling is interrupted by another snore. "I'm gonna go deaf if you keeping going on with that," Sam mutters.

"Then you can join the party," a voice muses in the corner, "and I can get you one of these." Sam looks up just in time to see Clint pointing to his own hearing aid. "They actually do wonders in the lady-department."

Sam furrows his brow for a second before rolling his eyes. Hawkeye was looking down at his phone again, entertained by whatever game he'd been playing while Sam had slept. Sam leans back into his pillow, looking pleased with himself. "I hope you brought some flowers for me, too."

Clint grins back. "I didn't wanna risk outshining His Highness."

Sam takes another look at his hospital room. Yellow roses fill all of it, from the floor to the counters to all the chairs, besides what T'Challa and Hawkeye are resting on. They are accented with different, smaller floral pieces like baby's breath or greenery, but there is no mistaking that yellow roses are everywhere. Some are in vases and some in bouquets, leaning against each other in impressive bundles. He must look really out-of-it, because Clint begins talking to him again instead of playing his game.

"They have you hooked up, dude," Clint laughs.  "You wouldn't be able to feel a train dropping on you."

"Don't get any ideas." Sam tries to shift in his hospital bed, but he's quickly reminded of his bandaged shoulder and casted arm. "So what happened?"

Clint sucks in a breath between his teeth, holding it to add to the suspense. When Sam fails to look amused, Clint shows mercy and explains. "A building fell on you, and it crushed your left side. Your arm took the worst of it-" he gestures to the cast, "But you're still pretty beat-up over all. Additional rubble punctured your side and cut into your shoulder. You were in pretty bad shape."

He pauses to consider how to continue. "But Cat King over there arrived on the scene first and personally loaded you up in the ambulance. And lemme just say, those were some real trust issues. He didn't let the medics do anything without letting him know first."

"Your response teams aren't always successful," T'Challa cuts in as he rises from his crossed arms. He straightens and adopts a posture befitting a ruler of the most advanced country in the world. He turns to glance at Sam, his previously sharp gaze softening. "And I promised you that you would be alright."

Clint huffs so that both men draw their attention back to him. "Well, he's all right now. Almost literally," he joked before shrinking under both of their glares. He leaves his phone on his lap and puts both hands up in a complacent manner. "Couldn't resist," he defended himself. "It's Tony's fault." He gives a two-finger salute and leaves the room, mentioning something about letting the team know Sam's awake as he goes.

The resulting silence lasts for a few heartbeats. Both T'Challa and Sam try to break at the same time, though the king ushers for Sam to speak first.

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_ ," T'Challa replies. "If you hadn't caught me in the first place, I wouldn't have been able to remove the rubble."

"I'm not sure I'd call that catching, so much as being turned into a surfboard. But, anytime." Silence falls once more after their exchanged gratitude. Then, Sam's eyebrows lift in realization. "You must really like flying with me, huh?"

"That will not happen again," he says quickly. Then, he softens again. "But I will not mind my trip back to Wakanda."

"Where are we now?"

T'Challa looks down at the foot of Sam's hospital bed, adjusting the blanket to cover Sam's toes. "Thailand."

Sam closes his eyes as he recalls the mission. He must have them closed for longer than he thought because when he opens them, T'Challa's worried face is looming over him. "Sam," he begins, "Will you join me in Wakanda?"

Sam's never seen the king with such uncertainty in his eyes. He prefers the smile they shared when he was half-buried. "If you're willing to stick around long enough for the hospital to admit me, then of course." He grins his favorite goofy grin and feels a warm, mushy feeling when T'Challa reciprocates.

He expects a comfortable silence, but T'Challa has other plans.

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"Will you join me in a kiss?"

"Come down here and find out."

**Author's Note:**

> I re-wrote this! If it looks familiar to you then you read the original draft (and I'm sorry for that because it was pretty bad).


End file.
